


A Little of the Worst

by Waitlist



Series: Waitlist's DA Collection [7]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Amputation, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Disability, F/M, Gen, Major Character Injury, Spoilers, Trespasser DLC
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-02
Updated: 2018-01-02
Packaged: 2019-02-27 12:35:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,787
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13248360
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Waitlist/pseuds/Waitlist
Summary: Victory Lavellan is seriously injured in a battle with demons, leaving her with less limb than she had before.  This doesn't stop her from punching consequence in the face.(previously titled: Working Around Things)





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> IMPORTANT NOTICE: I've moved this whole story from an old account, rewritten and edited, for archiving. The old version has been deleted, just clarifying that I'm not stealing. Also it's really cool now! 
> 
> The first chapter was written **before Trespasser** came out, and doesn't include any ship. The second chapter is a *post-Trespasser* follow up, and has some non-NSFW ship as stated. 
> 
> <3

The shrieking of demons and clashing of steel was the sound of music that the Inquisitor loved to hear. She swung her axe with a grin, watching a terrible, green amalgamation fall, cut down by her blade. 

"One down!"  

Her anchor throbbed with a dull pain; another wave was incoming. A brief lull in the chaos settled, where she allowed herself a breath, hearing nothing but her heartbeat.

"Victory, your left!

It took a moment too long for Victory to respond. Or maybe it didn't, maybe the brief, twisted visage of her younger sister stunned her out of action, before it flickered back into the monstrous face of a Fear demon. 

A long, slicing claw struck into her arm, piercing straight through her weakened armour,  before she could bring up her shield. At the wrong moment, Victory tore away in pain. The demon's claw raked deeper into her flesh, tearing muscle and knocking the air from her lungs. 

Victory screamed. She blacked out, and thrashed violently with her axe, dropping her shield without a thought. Dorian was quickly on the case with a fresh barrier, covering Victory as she hacked the claw from the demon, then stumbled back to chug a health potion. The Fear demon fell under one last arrow from Sera.

Closing of the rift was familiar enough that it was done quickly, leaving a silence filled with the party's heavy breathing. Blood pounded in her ears, and Victory knew something was wrong that the potion couldn't heal. Her bloodstone Griffon shield lay among the debris of the rift.  Varric, Sera, and Dorian eventually regrouped by their Inquisitor.

"I can do some basic healing spells, but  _that_  looks like you need a proper Inquisition healer." Dorian inspected her left arm, held up by her right. "Can you move it?"

Victory tried wiggling her fingers; instead of movement, a sharp stab of pain ran through her arm. She hissed a string of elvish curses. How could she be so defeated by just one rift? 

"I hate those Fear-things. The more rifts we close today, the better."

Blood oozed from the wound, spattering on to her boots, causing Sera to mutter, "Gross," with morbid fascination. 

Varric slinged Bianca in to her holster and cringed. "We ought to go back, get that looked at. Can't slay beasts without your defenses."

 "Someone grab my shield, please." Victory wrapped a makeshift cloth bandage on the injury, not looking any of her friends in the face.

They walked back to the nearest camp in the Emprise du Lion, arriving just as it was getting dark. The requisition officer could barely utter a greeting before the Inquisitor swayed, and collapsed into the snow with a thud.

* * *

The dream realm was never kind to her. She saw flashes of creatures, heard the screams of her friends, and felt overwhelmingly powerless upon seeing the demonic image of her younger sister. It had been so long since... Within the Beyond, she couldn't move. Speaking or yelling was futile, walking or running was out of the question. Her arm--

Shit.

Victory bolted up, kicking blankets from her legs, disorientation seizing her. A voice yelped in surprise.

"Your Worship! Please, don't-"

"Where am I? What...what happened?" When she looked around, she didn't recognise the room, only the people, Skyhold's healers.

The healer smiled a little nervously. "This is the new infirmary in Skyhold. You had a terrible injury while in Orlais, and..."

Victory looked down at her left arm - or the upper half that was left of it. There was thick bandage covered in salve at the end of the limb, just below the elbow, but nothing more than a dull ache. When she tried to replicate the motion of moving her fingers, she only felt a slight tingle. Of all the complications she ended up with...

"You took it off?" Her voice was low and hoarse. 

"My apologies!" The elven mage squeaked and winced. "We tried all we could, but there was no use, it would have been a dead weight! The nerves were beyond repair. We're lucky to have a skilled physician who has done this kind of thing before."

"Right... Who else knows about this?"

"I-I-I consulted with the Spymaster, and of course all the o-other healers we have... And the Tevinter. He said you, um, wouldn't be best pleased."

 

Victory couldn't tear her eyes from the arm. 

"I ought to make Dorian a special kind of award for insight."

"Um," the healer said carefully. "It will take some getting used to."  

There was a long pause of silence. Victory's head was racing over the possible consequences, in particular, the new lack of shield arm in her combat. She would have to train differently. How would she defend her left? Would it even be possible to tank, or would she start having to bring the Seeker? Victory sighed heavily, feeling a sudden longing for fresh air.

"Thank the Creators it wasn't my right hand, I suppose." The Anchor flitted in response. "Am I free to go?"

"Soon, your Worship. You need rest."

Victory grumbled.

* * *

 

Two days later, Victory was alone in the evening, spending all her time at the training dummies. She hacked, swung, and slashed viciously at them, leaving marks with each grunt. Blood pumped, boiling in her skin; she hated the way people looked at her now. She hated not being able to leave Skyhold, to solve problems and close rifts in lands under  _her_ protection. Her worthless, one-handed protection. Rumours rippled around Skyhold and beyond, of an indisposed Inquisitor. Ever since she snapped and screamed at Solas yesterday, no one would speak to her beyond skittering agents. Her axe caught the dummy's neck, and it's head flung across the room. 

Victory could hear someone approach behind her, but she didn't stop or turn around.

"Pixie."

Varric called her by that ridiculous nickname. When they'd met, he joked with her about how the Dalish were supposed to be 'rainbows and daisies and pixies', and how she didn't frolic enough. Now, it served to feed her anger.

"Herald," he tried again for her attention. "Your Inquisitorialness."

She didn't want to upset Varric, so she kept ignoring him. At this rate, she knew she would only say something nasty. Hopefully he'd get the idea.

"Victory."

With one last grunt, she plunged the blade into the dummy's shoulder so it stayed put. Victory spun on her heel, willing herself to stay calm with the dwarf.

"Varric. This is a bad time."

He put his hands up defensively, smile playing on his lips already. "Trust me, I know. I've seen enough of the Seeker's scary rage fits to know that much." She was silently thankful he seemed so undeterred.

"Speak plain with me."

"Of course. Right. So." Varric cleared his throat and leaned on the nearby fence. "All of us up in there have been breaking our fingers figuring out what to do about you." He gestured to the main hall of Skyhold. Victory scowled.

"What to do about my arm, you mean?" 

"Yep. Some people suggested that you just command from here...don't give me that look. The rest of us knew you wouldn't be happy with less than your teeth into a fight."

She hummed in agreement; even if she only had one fighting limb, she knew she had to try and fight.

"So I contacted some of my people.  _My_ people. In Orzammar."

"Tell me there's some magical dwarven artifact that regrows arms."

"As much as I would love to, I can only offer the next best thing. A pair of brothers who specialise in missing pieces. They're crafters; they build limbs and stuff better than anywhere in Thedas."

Victory raised her eyebrows, considering. "Hm. A metal or wooden arm wouldn't help me much if I can't hold a shield."

"That's why I asked them to make this."

He handed a schematic over to Victory, looking very pleased with his own work. She opened it out and read it.

The largest diagram displayed a shield in varying angles, with a strange cuff on the back. It was slightly pointed, perfect for bashing, and the materials labelled around it were reliable, like bloodstone. Around that, the cuff was drawn again several times, including attached to a half-arm with her measurements.

"I...kind of understand?"

"It's a removable shield for your left arm. It fits on to the end, and you use it just like holding one. Cool, huh?"

That meant she could fight again, disregarding her injury. Hope bubbled in her chest, and a smile split on her face. She beamed at Varric.

"Varric."

He waved a hand modestly, "Don't strain yourself for words, Pixie. Harritt helped me out, and you don't have to worry about gold. These guys owe me, let's just say."

Before he could stop her, Victory threw her arm around the dwarf and squeezed, making him chuckle. She released him when he sputtered.

"Thank you. Gods... I'm lucky for you." She grinned, cocking her head. "I'll see that you get paid extra."

"You know what a guy likes to hear, Inquisitor, but this was just for you. If you wanna repay me..." Varric glanced towards the tavern. "Wanna buy me a round, or you got a date with that dummy?"

"Drinks it is." 

* * *

 

By the end of the month, Varric's dwarven shield extension arrived. It fit well, was strong and maneuverable, but was pretty heavy for just her upper arm.  Harritt had to modify most of her armour, so the chainmail didn't dangle strangely off her arm. Victory took it upon herself to train  _very hard_  with the shield on. Panting breaths, and sweat running down her forehead, she felt better than ever. Now she wanted to get out there and show the world, she wasn't defeated.

"Now that's dedication. You've been at this for weeks."

She turned and grinned at Iron Bull, who was leaning in the doorway. "Come on then, big guy. I could take you."

"No, you couldn't." Bull frowned, mocking. "Not a little elfy girl with one arm."

Victory cackled. "Bring it."

He picked and weighed up a heavy training pole. She leapt on him before he could even get into stance. What the two Reaver warriors would call 'sparring', anyone else would call terrifying. They bounced off each other, teeth bared and growling, training swords hitting with no quarter. Iron Bull blocked a high swing from Victory, but his retaliation was stopped by a quick shield. The Qunari taunted her.

"That shield can't save you forever, stumpy!"

Victory ducked under his swing to jab at his waist. "At least mine does something cool! What does your eyepatch do, huh?"

Their vigorous, light-hearted training continued with neither judging the time, until a messenger arrived. He relayed that the Inquisitor was needed back in Emprise du Lion, for some Red Templar business. 

"Up for it, Bull?" Victory asked casually, ragged breathing from the fight.

"Sure. We can call it even, if we find a dragon."

"Great," she looked back at the messenger. "Let Dorian and Varric know, please."

"Yes, your Worship."

Later, in the harsh cold of Orlais, they started by sealing every rift around Emprise du Lion. Only Varric noticed Victory flinch at the screech of a Fear demon, before she wasted it into ash.

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Big ol' spoilers.  
> Tiny warning for emetophobia, nothing big, just in case. Within the first chunk of dialogue, and the last.

 "Solas, don't you dare. Don't you fucking dare."    

Gritting her teeth hard, Victory fought each new wave of nausea. The pain in her arm was like nothing else, otherworldly. It started stinging sharp in her jawbone, then rippling deep through her shoulder and elbow, and finally spilling out with sickly green light from her palm. She cradled the searing mark close to her chest. At some point, it had knocked Victory to her knees, but she hardly noticed.  

Above were the pitiless eyes of the Dread Wolf. They both knew how he could fix the rogue Anchor, stop it from spiraling out of control. Unfortunately, it would involve something miserably familiar. 

Solas seized her wrist, ignoring her violent protests. "Inquisitor. It is the only thing I can do, or the mark will kill you." 

_"Then let it."_  

"You have always been a fool," he sneered, holding her by the arm as she retched. "But I won't let you die this way." 

She pushed herself up to face him with the shield on her left arm, hissing. "Always noble when it suits you, Fen'harel?" 

Before he could respond, a bright flash of her palm tore a scream from her throat. He stared coldly as she doubled over once more, heaving for breath, and rapidly losing colour. Solas unsheathed a blade. 

"You'll thank me one day." 

He sliced, and she blacked out. 

 

* * *

 

She stormed up the steps, past the guards, and into the advisor's room. The long table, still marred with random ink, papers, and candle wax from yesterday's panic, was empty. Good. She paced for all of ten seconds before Josephine followed her in, then Leliana. 

"Go on then. Don't waste any time. Why don't you start with, 'what happened?' Or 'why did you do that?'" Victory turned to face the women. Only Josephine couldn't contain a short gasp.

 "I thought...Victory..." She spoke in no more than a whisper. "Who did this?"

 Leliana kept her gaze above Victory's shoulders. "It was him, wasn't it. Solas. You saw him in the eluvians." 

Victory nodded, glad that at least one had kept a clear head during the meetings. Josephine raised her brows as she pieced it together, but lost whatever she was going to say when Cullen arrived noisily.

 "Inquisitor--"

 "Didn't I make it clear that those days are over, Cullen?"

 "Yes, you made it perfectly clear, to all of Thedas' leaders!" The commander took a step forward, until his eyes met Victory's rolled up sleeves. "M-Maker."

 "It's over: all of you. We need to move forward."

 "How? With what, army, gold, resources?" Josie said, feeling braver.

 Cullen shook his head, bringing his fist to the table. "Three years, for what, Victory?"

 "Don't you _dare_ tell me I've thrown all of our work away. I haven't told Corypheus to get off his arse--"

 "I believe what they are implying is that your decision was very rash. Or at least, made without consultation." Leliana suggested.

 "Well, it's made. Done and done, no going back." 

 She turned and faced away from the advisors, choosing to stare at an ugly Orlesian painting, and allow her raging blood to calm.  By all the Creators, she wanted to punch something. Josephine and Leliana shared a few pointed looks in silent conversation, then Josie stepped forward.

 "Why don't... Let's go back to Skyhold and discuss the future. I think the stress of politics is getting to us all. Um. Commander?"

He waved a hand. "Fine. I'll gather those who still wish to follow, and send word ahead of today's events."

"And I will speak to the Divine. She will likely have questions, and she does still care about you, Victory."

Victory closed her eyes. She would probably never get to ride her hart ever again.

"Thank you," she sighed out. "I'm heading to my quarters to be alone for a while. I'll probably be better company after."

Nodding to her advisors, she carved a quiet and lonely path out of the door, to her Palace chambers. Every whisper and stare felt worse than any blow she'd received. The buzzing veranda dwindled as she passed, creating a heavy self-consciousness about her arms. Her left sleeve was tucked in neatly, as per usual since her first accident, but her right arm was still wrapped in a tight, red bandage, the sleeve visibly torn below the elbow. These masked Orlesians wore her down: none of them knew what she had suffered in battles, in nightmares, and in every waking moment since that wretched Anchor. They only saw the feral, Dalish elf warrior with a stubborn will. 

When Victory reached her chamber, she locked the doors behind. She climbed on to the window sill, tucking her knees below her chin, and ignored ever-present pain and the blood seeping through her bandages. She sat in her thoughts for an hour or two, until someone knocked on the door. After staying silent and willing them to leave, they still knocked again.

"Ferelden had better be on fire."

"If it was, I'd expect you'd be behind it." It was Iron Bull outside the door. 

"I don't want to talk to anyone right now."

"I know." The door clicked open, and she looked up and frowned at him. "But you should."

"Didn't know you could pick locks."

"I didn't - the kid Cole was here just now. He knows you needed someone."

"Weird that he should ask  _you_  to help me." 

"Weird, huh? I'd say he had a pretty good reason." Bull smirked at her, taking a seat by the table.

Victory denied her blush with a snarl. "If you came here to talk about  _that_ , then I don't--"

"No. I came to talk about you."

His voice sounded more serious now, and she relented to finally get up, taking a seat opposite. Her arms rested limp on the table but Bull didn't stare. 

"Have you thought about what's next?" He asked.

"I spoke with the Trouble Trio. They weren't happy with...me." 

"About the Inquisition?"

"Or lack thereof." She huffed derisively. "I still don't know if it was the right decision. Ar'dirthara, what have I done?"

Bull shrugged. "You went with your gut. Nothing wrong with that."

"But now, what do I have? Enough gold and men to get us back to Skyhold, sure, but do we even have Skyhold anymore?"  She thought about the soldiers and civilians who remained there. They had no idea their Inquisitor could have torn their home away.   

"No one's gonna make you give up Skyhold. Even if they tried, I bet Lady Montilyet would fend them off easy."

"She should run while she can. All of them should. Before I do something else stupid..."

Bull shot her a glare, and started pouring wine into two cups as he spoke. "The Inquisition might be gone, but these people still care about you. No one is going anywhere."

Victory started to smile, until he pushed the wine cup towards her. Was this some sick joke, or had he already forgotten? In pure frustration, embarrassment, and despair, her heart beat frantically again. 

"Are you...fucking with me...on purpose, Iron Bull?"

Two seconds later, he flushed a strange purple colour. 

"Oh. Uh, shit. Sorry." He picked up the cup and downed it. "Shit. Force of habit." 

She stood sharply from her chair. Normally, she would tease him for his discomfort, but now she was furious. At Bull, at Solas, at herself, and at that rift demon from three years ago. 

"Look at me," she hissed. "I'm as useless as a drunk nug _._  Can't feed myself, can't dress myself, can't ride a horse. Can't pick up a sword."

"You're--"

"No - look!" Victory lifted her arms wildly. "I've got  _no arms_ , Iron Bull! When we get back to Skyhold, they'll just prop me up on that gods awful throne, and have some shem with a fork and a straw to feed me."

"So what?" He threw right back.

"So what? Do you know me at all, Bull? I'll waste away."

"You won't, unless you let yourself. You've got a leader's brain, Victory, and you've fought creatures that shouldn't exist. If anything should've killed you, it would've been one of those high dragons."

"No one needs a leader who can't fight." 

"Everyone knows you  _can._  Maryden will sing pretty songs of your fighting for a long time yet."

"I'm just..." Victory spoke softer now, cooling herself at the window. "I'm tired of sacrificing myself. Literally and figuratively, pieces of me keep falling off. My own Gods were only power-hungry mage bastards."

Iron Bull downed another cup of wine then stood beside her, watching the sky turn darker shades of blue.  

"Listen. You are one of the strongest people I know. The world knows that. And yeah, things will change a lot for you, but you're a force of nature. What was it Sera said, at the tavern that one time...?"

She remembered fondly. "' _Maybe Quizzie is puking up her guts under the table over there, but damn if I wouldn't still bet on her in a fight._ '"

"A classic quote."

Bull brought his hand to her face, tracing his thumb over a scar that ran down her nose, and through her lip. She tried to relax into his touch, wishing she could touch him back. 

"This isn't over. I still have to find Solas, and stop him from... doing whatever the fuck he said." Her voice was just above a whisper. 

"As long as you've got a cause, you'll find the means." 

Victory sighed heavily. She was exhausted, running on adrenaline all day, saving the world again. Bull sat on the window sill, and she leaned in to rest against him. He just held her there, a large, comforting presence she hadn't known she needed. Eventually, the sun sank fully below the horizon, and Bull's chest rumbled as he spoke.

 "Dorian said he might know someone who can develop a, uh, magical prosthetic or two."

At this, Victory pulled back, frowning. "Seriously? He could do that?"

"Yeah. You're hardly the first person to lose limbs."

"Why didn't you open with that, you great oaf?" She pushed him with her arm, caught between grinning and scowling. 

Bull grinned. "'Cause it's only a 'maybe'. He's going back there after this, so I guess he'll ask around--"

She stepped on to her toes to kiss him. He gave her a questioning look.

"I have had the worst day of my life, today. But you're... You guys are all still there for me."

"Woah there, elfy girl. Are you getting soft?"

"Even if I can't punch you, I can still bite," she warned. "Let's deal with all this tomorrow. I'll call another table meeting."

"Right. Want me to stay? Need someone to  _help_ _undress_  you?" Bull winked, bringing his hand up to her chin, until she reached and bit his finger. "Ow!"

"Serves you right. Go and lock the door, would you?"

Soon, they were lying beside each other in her bed. He helped Victory dress, changed her bandage, and even fetched a straw from the closest kitchen so she could drink her wine. He was circling a pattern on her skin, while she breathed deep, recognising the familiar dragon blood scent. She closed her eyes, willing her thoughts to settle. A final hope remained.

"'Magical prosthetic', hmm. I have a feeling...we'll be seeing a lot of Tevinter soon."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Been a whiile since I've played Trespasser. Enjoy + leave kudos!!

**Author's Note:**

> Kudos appreciated!!  
> If there's anything you'd like me to change, in regards to this kind of disability, please let me know! I don't have any personal experience and am always looking to improve.


End file.
